The Halfblood Games
by cherrytreehp2012
Summary: Total AU! Do not have to have read Percy Jackson to read this! In the 51st Hunger Games, nobody's safe. Follows Nico and Percy duel POV Relationships include percabeth and jasico mainly but also percico, jiper, grover/juniper


_**Nico **_

"Get outside and do something useful with your time!" Persephone shouts from upstairs. I simply ignore her, and continue to flick the coin across the table with my fingers. "Nico!" She practically screams. Again, I ignore her. In fact, I enter the empty kitchen and take a seed from her beloved pomegranate. Why father bought her such an expensive fruit I don't understand, but I know it will annoy her massively. I hate to admit that I don't have the courage to speak out to her directly, but I can at least hate her in my own way. It's a waste of precious money, anyway.

I can't exactly say my family is poor. Compared to the Capitol, what we have is poverty, but according to District Twelve standards we're very rich. A general, well known fact about our district is that if you have wealth, you're automatically hated. Father was actually born into a Seam (the poorest place in District Twelve) family. He's never actually told me how he got enough money to move into the town, but now he gets by as a carpenter. Well, not exactly. Father makes coffins for the dead. Only a few select few can actually afford the luxury of a 'proper' burial, and those who can are willing to pay the massive price.

"Nico di Angelo!" Persephone, father's witch of a wife, takes one look at me, still standing still. "What did I tell you?" She grabs me by the collar of my shirt. "It's high time you started listening to what I tell you-"

Father clears his throat in the doorway. "Son, aren't you forgetting something?"

You might wonder where he gets the wood to make the coffins, being that we're not from District Seven, which specialises in lumber. In truth, it's kind of father's 'dirty little secret'. Every Saturday night at precisely eight, father goes to the wilderness, which is strictly "Out of Bounds", and cuts down his own wood whilst most of the district is drunk or asleep on their one night off. He usually returns early Sunday morning, of course dragging me along, and lugs it back to the shop.

"It's Reaping Day, sir," I say solemnly.

"Does that stop the clock ticking?" He raises an eyebrow.

"No, sir."

For just a brief moment, he looks like he pities me. "Your name's in there four times, Hazel's once. What does that Mr D say? Ah, 'the odds are in your favour'." He patted my shoulder, like he was trying to comfort me.

"The odds were in her favour too," I mutter under my breath, but thankfully father doesn't catch it. Just as well, really. Perhaps I should explain; my family's cursed. First was my mother, who died when I was barely a toddler of consumption. Father saw her, Maria, in my older sister Bianca, pushing her to favourite child status. About a year later, he had an affair with a Seam woman, who died giving birth to Hazel. The death toll slowed down, until two years ago when Bianca was chosen on this day.

No, I can't cry, I tell myself. Everybody cheered for the 49th Hunger Games, where it looked like District Twelve actually had a chance. She was in the top ten, somehow surviving longer than eighteen other tributes. For just a second it looked like she might come back home to us, but she took a knife to save her 'friends'. Heroic, some people say. Idiotic, I counter. Ever since, father's not been the same. Nobody has, but he was the worst. I just know that if I ever meet that guy in person, Brutus I think, I will kill him. And that goes for anyone in District Two. I remember the Victory Tour, where I considered sending a knife through his skull. Of course, that would be if I actually knew how to use a weapon.

Father and I walk through the district in silence. With death looming over everyone's head, it's considered respectful to keep quiet. Too many goodbyes. There are some kids here who have their names in forty times, as opposed to my four (which makes me fifteen by the way). You can see it in their faces, sunken eyelids and weary smiles from parents, assuring their twelve year olds that they won't be chosen. And usually, they never are. It's the older siblings, those on the brink of adulthood, that suffer. I keep my head on the path, unwilling to look deeper into their expressions.

Normally we'd go earlier, whilst the shade of night could still protect our identity. We'd certainly never go in such a direct, open way. But it's the day of the reaping. Nobody gives a damn, even the peacekeepers. So we walk, treading across the meadow and to the district border. The fence is meant to be packed with electricity, keeping us in. They never bother, though. Nobody sane would dare go across, not without a weapon, which is impossible to get. My father has not been sane for a long time.

He forces me under the fence first with pliers, so I can cut a bigger hole for him (we have not been in this location of the fence yet). For a town kid, I'm incredibly skinny. Not underfed, but skinny. Father doesn't bother thanking me, just walks off in front of me into the forest. The walk to the 'decent trees' takes about twenty minutes, in which time I nearly brake my ankle and narrowly escape becoming mauled by a rabbit. I do love the forest, otherwise. Not that I'd say anything against the Capitol aloud, but here it's the simple thought that I _could_ that keeps me going. The tall trees block out most of the sun, creating shadows and shades of green. Much better than the grey scheme of Twelve.

Nothing is said on the painful journey home. It is that, painful. Try dragging timber behind you! By the time we get back I'm covered in sweat from the strain and from working under the heat of the morning sun. Persephone takes one look at me and turns her nose up.

"You need a bath before the reaping. There's hot water upstairs."

I refuse to accept that Persephone would do anything nice for me, especially out of the good of her heart. Fathers warning look causes me to mutter a quiet 'thank you' before escaping up the stairs. The water is steaming when I reach it, eagerly stripping off my perfectly good clothes. The water stings badly, but it also causes my stiff muscles to relax. I allow myself to close my eyes, and just for a second I feel somewhat safe. After a quick scrub down, I clamber out, finding that Persephone had laid some 'decent' clothes ready. I groan at my reflection in the one mirror we owned. The simple white button down went halfway down my thighs, and the pants were baggy. Knowing it would be better if I did it now, I try to neaten my shaggy black hair. Quite frankly, I look utterly ridiculous.

I sigh, before knocking on my own bedroom door. "Yes?" Hazel replies, her voice high and perky like a child's.

She looks absolutely beautiful. Her dress is a pale yellow, like the petals of a flower. Hazel and I, we look nothing alike. My theory is that District Eleven runs somewhere in her blood. Her hair is long and curly, the colour of spices, and her eyes are almost pure gold. That, and whilst I'm pale, her skin is dark and rich.

Although she had sounded pleasant, I can tell from her face that she's about to break down into tears. Before she can, I step forward and pull her into my arms. "It's okay," I say, trying to sound somewhat reassuring.

"But what about-"

I don't let her finish. "You have one chance, Hazel. They're not gonna pick you."

She motions for me to release her as she regained her composure. "You look..."

"Awful."

"Handsome. The girls will love it."

I roll my eyes. "Hazel-"

"I know, I know." She brushes herself off, as if there was something covering her.

"Here," I slide off my ring, which has a skull engraved into it. "Now I'll be with you when you have to stand away."

She smiles shyly, reaches for the golden coin on the small chest of drawers (that barely fit in our shared room) and places it into my hand. I remember this, father had found it amongst the money that was worth something when some customer paid and gave it to Hazel.

"Are you sure?" I ask. It was the only present father has ever given her. She nod. "Just hold my hand until we get there, and after half an hour we can go home."

_**Percy **_

I try not to make a scene out of rubbing my sore wrist, but of course mom could tell. She inhales sharply in a way that mothers usually do before they're about to shout at you, but it never came. Instead she bites her lip. _Not now_.

"C'mon bro," I try to say supportively to Tyson, who looks like he's about to burst into tears. This happened every year. "It's the last one ever," I crack a weak smile.

"My... name... is..." He didn't finish the sentence.

"I know buddy, but even if you were reaped, a career would volunteer for you." Tyson doesn't deserve any of this. The guy may be six and a half foot tall, and kinda mean looking, but he's like an eight year old trapped inside an eighteen year old's body.

Gabe Ugliano, mom's husband, looks us up and down. "Do something about your hair. You're not leaving my house like that." He addresses me, mainly because Tyson wouldn't understand.

"At least mine's real." I don't even bother to mutter.

Gabe looks like he wanted to murder me, but mom's watching him like a hawk. He mutters something about hoping I'd get reaped. Seriously, I don't get why mom even married the guy. I vaguely remember being told that mom couldn't handle two young children without the money, but I'm not sure how much of that I believe.

Gabe might hate me, but it's nothing compared to how much he despises Tyson. You see, my mom and dad were the perfect District Four family. Mom always talks about him fondly, how an old friend turned up at her door with a young baby in his arms, Tyson, and how they'd been in love ever since. I barely remember the guy, like just a warm glow and a smile. When I was about three years old he went on a fishing trip and never came back.

The first time we met Gabe, he was real nice. We got a better house, nicer food, a good life. But then Tyson started to grow up, and it was clear why he didn't resemble mom at all. He's hers by heart, even if not by blood. I can't stand looking at the scars on his back, not without wanting to beat Gabe to a pulp.

It's not like I could. The guy might be nothing more than a drunk and a gambler, but his dad won The Hunger Games once. He has career training behind him, something I lack.

I nudge Tyson along when we reach centre of the town, where the Capitol has all their fancy stage set up. After all this is done, I think I'll go swim up to the caves on the coast. The Capitol people don't seem to enjoy the salty sea air, in fact the woman taking our blood wrinkles her nose before yelling a hearty 'next!'

Tyson looks at me and whimpers before becoming separated to stand with the other guys his age. I'm pushed a few rows in front, with the seventeen year olds. I don't really have friends. I'd have a laugh with a few of the guys, but other than that I would just hang out with Tyson. You see everyone give each other hopeful and supporting nods on most of the other reapings, but here almost everyone has a straight face. The guys around me stare at the bowl with our names in it hopefully, they _want _to be picked. Last year five of those had my name plastered on it, this year it's six.

We all focus our attention on the stage in front of the Justice Buildings. All I bother to notice is that we have a new escort this year, a guy. The mayor, Mr. Minos, takes to the podium and begins to read from the prepared speech about Panem, droning on about the games and sacrifice or whatever. Nobody listens, there's a wave of anxiousness in the air. District Twelve won last year, District Two before that. And then District Eleven. This year, we're out to win. Minos goes on to list the decent amount of names of the previous winners, which takes a while.

The new escort, who looks about twenty, steps forward. He doesn't have the typical Capitol look, in fact he looks weirdly normal. He's tan and lean, a common build here in District Four. His hair is so bronze it's obviously fake, and his teeth are so white they five me a headache.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour." His Capitol accent isn't as thick as they usually are, and he rolls his eyes as he says it. "It's always an honour to be here in your _wonderful _district blah, blah, blah," he continues. "Let's just get on with it. As always, ladies first," in an attempt to be seductive, he winks over at the girls' side.

Instead of bothering to fish around a bit, he simply takes the name from the very top of the bowl. "Nancy Bobofit," he grins, motioning for her to come up. I almost scream with joy. Nancy is, well, nothing but a bully. Always making fun of Tyson.

Before she can fully work her way out of the crowd, a girl from my section raises her hand. "I volunteer!" I can't tell if she's a career or not. Usually, careers will volunteer sincerely, but the girl seems to think this is all a big joke. Once she manages to of the crowd, I see her properly. She's not full of muscle, but it she's agile enough in appearance to be a good runner. Her hair is fiery and girly, matching the thin lines of freckles across her nose. Her confidence will get her sponsors.

The escort takes her hand flirtatiously, planting a kiss on it. "And your name would be?"

"Rachel," she grinned. "Rachel Elizabeth Dare."

"Well, Rachel Elizabeth Dare," he continues to flirt, "I think I'll like you." He addresses the rest of the crowd. "C'mon everybody, let's give our newest tribute a round of applause!" And they do. Even I, reluctantly, smack my hands together. "Now, time to choose our boy tribute!" Again, he barely dips his hand into the bowel. "Tyson Jackson!"

A few rows behind me, my brother lets out a cry before being forced forward by a peacekeeper. _I will not panic. I will not panic. I will not_ – He's reached the stage. "Well, Tyson," the escort says with a grin, "congratulations! But first, are there any volunteers?"

I hold my breath for the two words that will save him, but they never come. Only uncomfortable silence. I freeze. There are _always _volunteers! Always! Why not now? Why not for him?

"With that matter dealt with-"

"I volunteer as tribute!" I shout as loud as I possibly can before I can stop myself. And the guys part for me. Taking a tip from Rachel, I try to look confident. Cocky, even. If I can convince myself that I want this, maybe I can convince the Capitol.

Tyson stares at me, trembling, when I reach the side. I hug him briefly before telling him that it was okay, and he can go back to mom now. "Uh, yeah," I say, breaking the silence. I don't know how I'm standing, I just signed my own death warrant.

"Welcome aboard," the escort claps me on the back. "What's your name?"

"Percy Jackson." I'm surprised at how confident and steady I sound.

"Let's have a round of applause for both our tributes!" The noise makes me uncomfortable, as do the intense stares. I'm not a career, I'm a nobody. Everyone knows that. Over the clapping, the escort talks lowly to me. "Was that your brother?" I nod. "That was brave, dude." He smiles genuinely before going on to recite the Treaty of Treason. After that's dealt with, Rachel and I shake hands and go inside the Justice Building.

I've only been here once, when dad died and Tyson got a medal. It's daunting. District Four isn't exactly a poor district, but no houses look like this. I have no idea what it's made from, some sort of fancy stone, but it takes my breath away. I don't know how I'm going to survive in the Capitol. The Capitol. I'm going to be in the Capitol.

"I'm Apollo," the escort finally introduces himself. "I'm filling in for your regular this year." He leads us to the two rooms designated for goodbyes and closes the door. And I wait. For nearly twenty minutes I pace around in silence.

Mom and Tyson burst in the room, and it breaks my heart. Mom's eyes are completely bloodshot. She's obviously been crying.

"Mom..." I choke out, letting her hug me.

"You're strong Percy," she tells me. "You'll come home to us." I don't have to brace myself for Tyson's bone crushing hug, and after it he doesn't say a thing.

"I'm sorry." I don't know what I'm apologising for.

"I believe in you, Percy," mom says. She unfastens the necklace she always wears, which is a simple band with five clay beads attached. "You can have a token."

We don't say anything else until the hour is up, and I am taken to a car. I've never been in a car before, but from the looks of it Rachel has. Then it hits me. _Dare. _Her dad was one of the richest men in the district, save for the mayor and victors. Of course she'd have career training, but why would she volunteer like that?

It's like she's reading my mind. "My dad's terrible. When I win I'll get to live on my own." I noted that she said 'when' not 'if'. Her confidence wasn't an act?

"You know you're going to win?"

She looks at me with a grin plastered on her face. "Of course I am. We can be allies until I have to kill you." She laughs, and I do to, mainly because I'm not sure if she's kidding or not. Apart from us and Apollo, there's another man in the car, Triton, who was the last victor and will be our mentor. He doesn't comment on our arrangement.

The train surprises me. The room, which will be mine overnight until we reach the Capitol, is twice as big as mine and Tyson's. Everything happens so quickly. There's not even a break for food before we're made to sit in front of a television screen.

"You need to watch," Triton says, "and decide who will be a good ally and who's an easy target."

My stomach twists at his words, even as Caesar Flickerman starts talking about how it's been a great year for volunteers. District Twelve goes first, and it's the most haunting. I see a young girl, who couldn't be more than twelve get reaped. Nobody volunteers for her, and the district is silent except from one guy who calls out her name desperately. Hazel. Then the guy gets reaped, and he has the same last name. I wince. I'd hate to know that either my sister or I has to die.

"They're nothing to worry about," Triton reassures. "They'll die in the bloodbath."

More districts flash past. I take note of District Seven, where some guy named Grover volunteers. From what happens on stage, I guess he volunteered to protect his girlfriend, who's crying. Nothing outside of the normal happens after that, and then I'm seeing our reaping. I see myself cry out to volunteer, and I was right. I do look confident. Like a career.

"Start paying real attention now," Triton commands.

District three catches my eye, as the male tribute, Leo something, actually grins into the camera, despite his obvious lack of strength. It's the girl that makes me really pay attention. She's beautiful. Athletic, scary looking, and with hair that looked like a princess' blonde curls. She was striking, Annabeth Chase.

Of course there's two volunteers from District Two. Clarisse la Rue, who looks like she eats guys like me for breakfast, and Jason Grace, who looks much too nice to be a career. Then there's District One, where again there are two volunteers. Luke Castellan is typical, but Piper Mclean looks more pretty than deadly. And also smug.

"Do you both have an idea?" Triton asks.

We nod in silence.

"Time to eat!" Apollo announces.


End file.
